Look to This Day

“We don’t begin again on January first, we begin the moment we stop postponing our life to tomorrow.” ~Goodmoodism

Before Corona hit us hard back in 2020, I used to teach Yin Yoga every Friday at 6 p.m. I had loyal students who came to my class week after week, and I loved it. I loved seeing their relaxed faces afterward, hearing the gentle compliments they offered me, feeling the softness that would settle over the room.

Every time, before ending the class with Namaste, they would sit with their eyes closed while I read a poem in German, one I believed at the time was written by my favorite Persian poet, Rumi. It was the perfect way to close the practice. Somehow, no matter how many times I read it, it always felt new, as if we were all hearing it for the first time.

I don’t teach Yin Yoga anymore, but the feeling of those ninety minutes, the warmth, the trust, the peaceful faces, will stay with me always.

What remains now is the poem. And when I began researching it for this newsletter, hoping to find the English version, I learned something unexpected: it wasn’t Rumi at all. Many sources link it instead to Kalidasa, the ancient India’s greatest Sanskrit poet.

Still, the words carry a truth that feels universal:

Exhortation of the Dawn by Kalidasa
(English version by W. S. Merwin & J. Moussaieff Masson)

Listen to the Exhortation of the Dawn!
Look to this Day!
For it is Life, the very Life of Life.
In its brief course lie all the
Verities and Realities of your Existence.
The Bliss of Growth,
The Glory of Action,
The Splendor of Beauty;
For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And Tomorrow is only a Vision;
But Today well lived makes
Every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every Tomorrow a Vision of Hope.
Look well therefore to this Day!
Such is the Salutation of the Dawn!

This poem holds so much meaning. Every line is a simple truth we often forget. We live pulled between two worlds: our past, heavy with old wounds, failures, and misfortunes, and our imagined future, where everything will finally be better.

I know this because I’m caught in that pattern too.

But I’ve learned that on the rare days when I manage to be fully present, even if it’s just for a few minutes, something shifts. Something softens. Something magical happens.

I wish we could all live that way more often, to look well, truly well, to this day. But I also know the reality of life is different and more complicated.

And maybe that’s why this poem stayed with me for so many years.

It reminds me to return to myself.
To this moment. To this day.

In that same spirit of presence and honesty, I want to share something I wrote not long ago, a letter to myself. A letter I needed.

Maybe someone reading this needs it too.

Letter to Self

“Keep taking time for yourself until you are you again.” ~ Lalah Delia

Dear Me,

You didn’t start writing to be brave. You started because you were tired.

Tired of carrying everything in silence, tired of losing pieces of yourself to days that all felt the same. You wrote because you needed a place to breathe.

And look at you now. You turned those scattered thoughts into something honest, something real, a way back to yourself.

You didn’t rush it.

You didn’t fake it.

You just kept showing up in words when you couldn’t show up anywhere else.

That’s strength, even if you didn’t call it that.

You’ve spent so much of your life waiting to feel “ready,” but maybe healing doesn’t wait for readiness. Maybe it just asks for honesty, the kind you’re learning to give yourself day by day.

Keep writing, even when the words feel small.

The story isn’t over just because you paused.

It’s simply catching its breath.

One day, you’ll look back and realize this version of you, the one who kept trying when it was hard, was the bravest one of all.

With love,
Me x

A New Year, Gently Continued

Today, I’m writing my 11th newsletter, and this is also my first one of 2026.

As this new year unfolds, it feels right to carry the softness of this poem, and this letter, into the months ahead.

When I started this newsletter on October 1st, 2025 and published the very first one, I worried I’d have nothing more to write about afterward. But I soon realized how many stories still live quietly inside me, waiting for their turn to be told.

Since then, I’ve written every week until now, sometimes with ease, sometimes through doubt.

From here on, I’ll write once a month, or whenever inspiration visits.

I want writing to remain a place of joy and discovery, not pressure.

I’m deeply grateful for this journey. I never imagined that something so simple could bring so much meaning.

I don’t know where this path will lead, but I’m grateful it found me, and grateful to all of you who are here, reading along.

Thank you for subscribing, reading, sharing, and supporting me in any way you have. You encouraged me to keep going when I needed it most.

2026 did not start the way I expected.

Not personally. And not in the world around me.

I am going through a difficult time and trying to heal. At the same time, I’ve been watching what is happening around the world, and this time it hit me differently, because it is the place where I was born and raised until I was sixteen. My home. Iran.

Since the end of December 2025, a movement has been growing stronger, louder, and more visible in Iran. People are risking their lives, going into the streets, demanding rights that should never have been denied to them.

I am deeply proud of the bravery of every person who goes out knowing the consequences, knowing what might happen, and still choosing to stand up for freedom and dignity.

Your courage shows the strength of the human spirit, and I have never been prouder to be Iranian.

My heart aches for every life that has been lost, for those who never got the chance to experience what freedom truly feels like.

Rest in peace, you beautiful souls.

And to the ones still standing and fighting, I salute you.

Let us learn this year to never take our freedom for granted. Let us honor it, protect it, question it, and use it wisely, not only for ourselves, but for those who do not have it.

Most importantly, let us cherish it in ways we too often forget when comfort surrounds us.

I wish all of us a year filled with presence, compassion, clarity, resilience, courage, and empathy.

May 2026 feel less like something we rush into, and more like something we grow into.

Here’s to everything we’re still becoming.

With a determined, thankful, yet aching smile,
GOO:DMOO:DISM